


A Throne for Two

by gallifreyanlibertea



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M, magical strike
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-26
Updated: 2017-11-26
Packaged: 2019-02-07 07:12:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12835980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gallifreyanlibertea/pseuds/gallifreyanlibertea
Summary: Arthur was a simple office employee until he got caught up in a man's plan for revenge. He finds that he doesn't really mind the change.





	A Throne for Two

“I don’t know if I like the word ‘smirks’ here, sweetheart.”

Arthur rolls his eyes as Alfred squints down at Arthur’s draft, snatching the red pen from Arthur’s hand in an attempt to go about scratching and scribbling on the paper. Arthur crinkles his nose in response. He blocks the pen’s path. 

Alfred tries it again, and Arthur smacks his hand. If Alfred knows it annoys Arthur, he doesn’t stop.

“That’s what you did in our interview, though, Alfred, you smirked.”

“It makes me seem… oh, I don’t know. Makes me look mean, don’tcha think?”

Alfred puts down the manuscript after a while, sipping from his champagne as a sudden gust of wind leaves his cape billowing behind him, and Arthur curses because he doesn’t have his camera. It would’ve made a good picture.

He would’ve captioned it  _Silver Star enjoys a drink after defending Metro City from one of its worst cyber attacks_ and his editor would’ve loved it. That was what had happened, after all, only minutes ago, the city shook under a series of hackings and other computer what-nots and Arthur isn’t interested in that sort of detail. He’s only in-charge of reporting the Silver Star, and how the man stops such attacks.

He’s in charge of the personality: the city’s own ‘superman’; and Arthur supposes that makes him the Lois Lane.

And being the one _in charge_ , he finds it annoying when Alfred doesn’t allow him to mention details such as his frankly irrelevant facial expressions, because there should at least be a  _minute_  degree of truth to the media.

It’s a compromise, really, because it’s not like Arthur writes about the fact that it was Alfred himself who caused the cyber attack- nor does he mention the way those electric blue eyes of his glisten with anger, with hatred, because as far as both he and Alfred are concerned, the public doesn’t need to know the malicious intent behind the charade, the fictional character that was their beloved ‘superhero’. Alfred Jones, the Silver Star. 

And they wouldn’t. Not anytime soon, that is.

“I heard you might be getting promoted.”

Alfred says it out of the blue and Arthur hums, stacking his papers neatly on the tabletop.

“I sure hope I do, I didn’t spend an hour sweet-talking my editor for nothing.”

Arthur’s editor is a stocky man whose breath smelled eternally of smoke. Arthur shudders at the memory of the saccharine smile on his own face as he convinced his boss he was ready for a bigger responsibility… the steel in the undertones of his voice as he reminded his boss he had friends in higher places.

Alfred is clearly proud of him. He smirks.

And that’s the kind of thing he did! Arthur hardly tries to make him look evil in his writing, he only tells the truth because Alfred  _smirks_ , he hardly just smiles, and Arthur wants to bring it up in reference to their previous argument but he finds himself rather occupied as Alfred somehow manages to snake himself out of his chair, kneeling next to Arthur’s seat.

There is a pair of lips on Arthur’s own, gloved hands pull at the back of Arthur’s neck until he’s fully invested in the alcoholic kiss.

Alfred found it attractive when Arthur did evil, manipulative things.

Perhaps it’s because he had never expected the mousy little office-employee he’d plucked up off the streets to ever hold his own, but Arthur had definitely done more than that by now.

“You’re hot, you know that?” Is Alfred’s breathy explanation for his actions as he pulls away, peppering kisses along Arthur’s jawline, and Arthur doesn’t disagree.

Although, he definitely finds it jarring, to think the man at his feet had, not long ago, terrified Arthur to the point of him having to clamp his hand over his mouth to stifle his breathing so as the other wouldn’t hear him.

Which was exactly what he’d been doing a year ago as he crouched behind a pile of wood and garbage in an alley to hide from the supervillain at his heels.

“Come on, dude, not cool!” Silver Star had called and Arthur’s gasp escaped his lips as a foot collided with his shelter, sending it flying out from above him, scraping against the asphalt until it came to a screeching halt.

Arthur scrambled to his feet, yet before he could run, a gloved hand dragged him back by the shoulder.

“Slow down, sweetheart. I just want to talk.”

Nothing inside Arthur had led him to believe that the man towering before him- in a dark silver suit paying homage to his name, with details in black and purple, all colours that were equally menacing to Arthur at that very moment- had just  _wanted to talk._

“P-please, I- I’m just a, I’m-” Arthur had never thought he would be reduced to such a babbling mess, yet under the gaze of those electric blue eyes- ones that seemed not to fit the color scheme the villain had gone for- it didn’t seem all that impossible.

“You work for my father. Is that correct?”

It was something Arthur hadn’t expected to hear. He’d glanced up. He had blinked. “Ah… yes, I-”

He was quite honestly one of the lowest of the low, the most expendable of the bunch, and there was no way the Silver Star would go out of his way to seek Arthur out when there were so many others that would prove more useful. Or at least, to whatever master plan that mind of his had hatched up.

“Do you like your job, sweetheart?”

What kind of a question was that? “Yes, your father treats us well, he-”

“You don’t have to lie to me. Daddy dearest and I don’t really get along.”

Arthur chewed his lip. “I… He can be a bit harsh.”

A bit harsh was an understatement. Paychecks had been cut twice that year, Arthur barely earned enough to pay his bills and survive, much less indulge himself like he would rather be doing. 

“My father is a bad man.” The Silver Star said, with a voice suddenly hardened.  “Now, how would you like to quit? I see a future in newspaper journalism for you.”

“Sir, I-”

“Join me, I pay well.” It was hardly a request. The man cracked his knuckles, lips spread into a grin. “Unless you have something better to do?”

Arthur, most certainly, did not have anything better to do.

After all, what was better than being a puppet at the hands of a villain? What could be better than being bound by will to a man who dictated exactly how he wanted things written, and exactly what he wanted Arthur to report- sometimes going as far as whispering it into Arthur’s ear as Arthur typed away in his bedroom.

“You really don’t have to… be here,” Arthur had found himself scrambling for his next word at the sight of those eyes turning to glare at him. “Sir.”

“How else do you want to get this done?” Silver Star had said.

“Well, usually, I would just write the article up and email it to you and you could… edit and send it back?”

“Emails can be traced.”

Fair enough. Arthur had then turned back down to his screen, fingers tapping against the keyboard as the villain peered over his shoulder.

Alfred had been picky the first month or two. He was always so cautious about what Arthur said, how Arthur said it, how to build each word so as to topple his father from his throne, to incriminate him, to steal the massive influence of him and his business on the city.

“Change your word choice there.”

“I thought it… I, um, thought it was fine.”

“It’s nice writing, yeah, but-” Alfred told him there was a way to say things without quite saying them. That was how they would work from then on, he’d said. “Between the lines.”

Arthur had felt Alfred’s words as hot breaths on his neck. He shivered, only slightly, as he moved to fix the error.

Alfred gripped Arthur’s shoulder. “Next time on, work your drafts on paper.”

Boundaries were, and still are, a problem with Alfred. It was something Arthur would come to know, come to be familiar with. The heat that radiated off the Silver Star’s body was almost surreal at times, almost as if the man sitting next to him was, well, a  _man._  A living, breathing human and not some entity from Hell.

It had taken time for Arthur to become comfortable with that fact.

“I never thought I’d see you enjoy yourself.”

Arthur hadn’t thought it either, yet there he’d been, months into their wicked sort of partnership and Arthur had hung up a business call with a smile playing on his lips.

Silver Star- or, Alfred, as he’d let Arthur address him, seeing as “sir” was getting a bit old- had taken a strange liking to the left side of Arthur’s loveseat. Arthur seemed to always see him there, monitoring Arthur’s every move with a stern furrow of his brows.

Arthur turned to him, “I’ve just scheduled a meeting with that charity.”

“What was so funny about that?”

“I’ve also  _accidentally_  released this information to the public, I’m dreadfully sorry if you show up to find a horde of photographers ready to catch you off guard.”

There it was, that grin. Alfred seemed pleased, and Arthur had found that he had come to crave the expression, like some sort of pet awaiting a treat.

“I knew it was a good idea recruiting you, sweetheart.”

And Alfred had suited up to donate to the charity, finding cameras upon cameras ready to broadcast the staged event to the public. It turned out, the citizens of their city were quite the suckers for these things.

Despite the fact that Mr. Jones Sr. had told the public time and time again exactly why he’d disinherited his son and what sort of evil really laid in that persona of his, it was interesting to see the public opinion flutter at the sight of the articles Arthur had written in Alfred’s favour. That was the first step.

_The Silver Star was seen working with orphans earlier this week-_

_The Silver Star catches bank robbers red-handed-_  Oh, that one had been Arthur’s personal favourite, seeing as Alfred had let Arthur hire the robbers himself, something Alfred usually took it upon himself to do.

It had been refreshing, in the earlier months that Arthur knew the man, to feel himself beginning to be trusted. 

Yes, Arthur would do nothing to betray that trust, not when Alfred was doing his part pulling Arthur up the ranks of his newspaper company until his old, dusty furniture became brand and sparkling new, and the bottles of cheap beer in Arthur’s fridge became wine in his own wine cooler, bought with his own damn salary.

Arthur can’t remember a time, now, when he hasn’t been used to that luxury.

It’s a feeling he’s worked for all his life to achieve.

“I’m sending this to my editor, Alfred,” Arthur mutters as a final warning.

Alfred replies with another kiss, lips working on Arthur’s until Arthur can practically melt into the hand that cups his cheek, until he can taste the wine on Alfred’s tongue.

Alfred hates wine.

“I like beer better.” Alfred had said that day, and Arthur remembers the event to this very minute. The day Alfred had brought bottles of wine to Arthur’s doorstep at the stroke of midnight, with not one warning to the confused reporter, not caring to poke fun at Arthur’s striped, matching pyjamas.

Arthur had stammered, “I’ve… um, I’ve got, uh, beer in my fridge I think.”

“Villains look cooler sipping wine. I’ll get used to it.”

Arthur hadn’t known then, why he tended to lose his composure under that blue-eyed gaze.

“A toast to you.” Alfred had said and Arthur blinked.

“Me?”

“You.” Alfred sipped his wine and Arthur silently agreed. He did look cooler. “You turned out way better than I could’ve hoped for.”

Perhaps it was the wine that did it. Arthur doesn’t know to this day what had pushed him to the edge, and dear lord, had he not been tipsy, had he actually thought of the possible consequences of his actions, he never would’ve done it. He never would’ve even  _thought_ about it.

But Arthur was, and still is, an idiot, so he had leaned in to smash his lips against the lips of Metro City’s most notorious supervillain. Or, at least, that had been his title before Arthur came along.

Alfred hadn’t expected it, it seemed, but damn it if he was going to be caught off guard. As he later told Arthur, as an explanation for his actions, he was the human embodiment of spontaneity! No one bested him at that.

So Alfred had gripped Arthur’s hips, kissing back with a vigour of a man as young as he was, smiling onto Arthur’s lips, a self-satisfied sort of smile. It was as if he had expected it to happen. He had expected Arthur to have felt  _that_  way.

Alfred had the same smile on his face as he took Arthur to bed, and the same smile as he left.

“You’re leaving?”

Alfred had laughed just a little bit, swinging his legs over the side of Arthur’s bed. “I have something I need to take care of.”

Arthur had watched as Alfred slipped on his clothes, twisting the knob of Arthur’s bedroom door.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’ll be back.” A sly smile.

(Arthur had later learned that Alfred couldn’t sleep without following through with a tight regimen, which included taking his contacts off. Yes, those electric blue eyes were too good to be true, and Arthur had awoken the next morning to a pair of big baby blues- and Arthur had laughed, accusing Alfred of being too dramatic for his own good.

“You couldn’t have just told me you had to freshen up?”

“I liked getting you all worked up to see me leave.”)

So Arthur eyes his manuscript, the lack of markings being a sort of reminder of just how far he’s gotten.

He remembers a time when Alfred would make those scribbly marks on his work, when Arthur would _let him_ make marks on his work. He crinkles his nose. He’s glad he’s past that, Alfred’s handwriting is truly atrocious.

“This is the final edit, Alfred, are you alright with that?”

It’s hardly a question as much as it is a declaration.

Alfred rises to his feet, “Whatever you think is best.”

Arthur supposes he and Alfred make a charming couple. Not a single person can guess what’s to come from the two that scheme so quietly, so secretively; no one can see it coming, what they have planned for their oblivious city.

Arthur takes a break from typing up his final draft and slides next to Alfred on the loveseat, deciding not to protest as he’s pulled onto Alfred’s lap, just as Alfred likes it. “Soon enough, Artie, my father won’t even know what hit him.”

“The city will be yours, my love.”

Alfred lets Arthur toy with the purple streak in his hair. “This city is going to be  _ours,_ sweetheart.”

**Author's Note:**

> this was a request that was sent in to my Tumblr asking for USUK as a power couple and I got a bit carried away oopsie


End file.
